Page 15 of Haunted Crowns
She looked at him, wide-eyed, unguarded. Something inside her slipped loose.
“Then touch me before I do.”
And he did, as if her words had unshackled him.
His mouth crashed to hers like a man starved, reclaiming every moment he’d wasted. Her gasp disappeared into him. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer. His arms locked around her, as if afraid she might disappear. She kissed him back with everything she had buried: all the longing, the silence, the missed chances. It was desperate. Sacred. It was everything.
The fire burned beside them, heat licking at her skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of him. A groan rumbled in his chest as he dragged her closer, anchoring her in his lap. She melted into him, her body pressed to his. His hands slid down her back, settling at her waist, gripping like she was the only thing holding him together. She tilted her head, deepening the kiss, letting herself taste the truth in it.
Then he heard footsteps.
Stephan stiffened. His lips lingered for one more second, before he wrenched himself back and cursed under his breath. His forehead touched hers, breath unsteady, hands still at her waist.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
Eris’s lips still burned. Another footstep echoed, closer this time. Stephan cursed again and pulled away, the cold rushing in where his body had been. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, shaking off the daze of what had just happened. His breath was still uneven as he grabbed his shirt and coat from where they hung by the fire.
She stood frozen, arms wrapped around herself once more. His warmth still clung to her skin. She didn't want the moment to end.
“It’s past midnight,” he murmured, his voice raw. “No one should be here.”
His chest still rose too fast, too hard. He moved quickly, grabbing her hand, leading her through the darkened halls.
She barely felt her feet beneath her. She felt only the ghost of his mouth on hers, only his fingers curled around hers like a promise unspoken.
At her guest chamber door, he hesitated. His fingertips grazed her cheek so briefly, she barely felt it.
Then, with aching gentleness, he leaned in. His lips pressed to her forehead, soft, as if sealing something sacred.
As he pulled back, his fingers tilted her chin. His gaze held hers, fierce, reverent and unbearably tender, as if she were the only truth he had ever been sure of.
“Goodnight, Eris,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her bottom lip, like a memory he couldn’t bear to let fade. “We’ll reclaim every second they stole from us,” he said. “One heartbeat at a time.”
She smiled, radiant. He returned it, like he’d waited his whole life to see her smile like that. His touch lingered, just long enough to memorize her. Then he stepped back, not looking away until the last possible moment.
Finally, he turned.
She watched him disappear into the shadows, not lost, but carrying something of hers with him. She closed the door. The silence that followed should have comforted her. Instead, it spoke. A low voice curled through her mind like smoke. It spoke her name and something else. Something ancient.
Her pulse stuttered. Her fingers tightened on the wood.
The night no longer felt still.
Something had awakened, and it had marked her.
“Third general down. All signs point to Lycan retaliation.
Authorization requested for retaliatory strike.
Blood must answer blood.”
—Obsidian Order field report
Chapter 4
The Black Chalice was the Summit’s dining hall. But it might as well have been a kingdom of its own. Its borders weren’t marked by gates, but by serving lines. Wealth gleamed in polished oak serving tables and crystal goblets; power flashed in the keen edge of mezzaluna knives slicing roast. At the center, the Firstblood nobility dined in private alcoves, their silk-draped benches bathed in the warm glow of glittering chandeliers. The Turned kept their distance, seated on sleek, polished benches under stark, wall-mounted lamps that cast a cold, artificial light, marking them as something less than natural. And at the farthest edge, the Lycans and humans lingered in shadow, hunched over battered tables that had never known polish. The hierarchy was built into every seat, every glance, and Eris felt it pressing down on her, tightening like a vise. But even under its weight, a vivid thought pushed through, refusing to stay buried.
Her fingers drifted to her lips, her eyes fluttering closed as memory surged.
